


frayed

by curiouscorvid (prometheanTactician)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bad Parenting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romantic Soulmates, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prometheanTactician/pseuds/curiouscorvid
Summary: Lorenz is ten years old when he learns Almyran.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 45
Kudos: 208





	frayed

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: Lorenz's father is an asshole, references to Fódlan's various prejudices
> 
> This was just supposed to be a cute little soulmate ficlet and then it got kinda out of hand?? Like thousands of words out of hand. Anyway have these dumb yearning idiots.

Lorenz is ten years old when he learns Almyran.

He isn't supposed to. In fact, he has been expressly forbidden from doing so. To have a soulmark in another language, particularly of a culture Fódlan is often at odds with, is considered shameful among nobility. It is seen as a conflict of interests. If one has such a mark, they are seen as disloyal and untrustworthy. Their lives are ruined, the prospects lost, and any political career they may have had is gone before it begins.

He is to be the leader of the Alliance. To have such a mark would surely rob him of such a future. From the beginning, his father had him hide the mark. He would not even tell Lorenz what language it was, if he knew. He commanded Lorenz not to seek out information on such things, as it would be better to know nothing of it at all. To pretend it did not exist. To pretend he did not have a soulmate

It is the first time he ever disobeys his father.

He looks through every text he can find of any other language he comes across, especially those with different letters. Searching, comparing, studying. Trying to find lettering that matches the script just below his collarbone. It takes ages before he finds the right language, and longer still to find what exactly the word, the name, that he is searching for.

خالد

_Khalid_

He mouths the words, not confident enough to try saying them aloud. He practices for hours upon hours on other words before daring to speak the name, to hear it in his own voice. He does not want to get it wrong, not even once. Such a feat is difficult without ever having heard the language spoken. When he says it, though, it feels natural. It feels right. He smiles, and even when his father discovers his disobedience and punishes him accordingly, he cannot bring himself to regret what he had done.

After years of ignorance, he finally knows his soulmate's name. The name that has been upon his skin his entire life, that he has never been able to read.

It does him no good, he knows. Soulmates are nothing more than an inconvenience for the nobility, something doomed to bring only heartbreak. They could not be beholden to such things. Their duty supersedes it. He knows that, even as a child.

Even still, it is a comfort to know. Especially in lonelier moments, or when his father is cross with him, or when the pressure of all he must be is too heavy. It is all so much easier to bear, knowing that there is one person who, if he were to meet them, would like him. Maybe even love him. 

There is at least one person alive for whom he is enough.

\-----

He never remembers much about the dreams. He wakes up with vague impressions, feelings and fleeting images.

Usually he wakes up smiling. Laughter caught in his chest, a warm feeling all over as if he's been lying in the sun. Someone else's smile behind his eyelids, someone else's laugh ringing in his ears. The afterimages of the prettiest eyes he has ever seen, big and green and looking at Lorenz as if they are glad to see him.

Sometimes, he wakes up with his throat tight and his eyes burning with unshed tears. The phantom weight of having held someone in his arms. He hears sobs rather than laughter, on those nights. Those lovely green eyes screwed shut against the flood of tears. He remembers phrases. Only a few, but they stick with him all the same.

_Why do they hate me? I don't know what I've done wrong. Nobody likes me…_

__

__

I like you! They are fools to throw away the chance to know you.

You like me?

_Very much so._

He remembers his shoulder feeling damp with tears, but it was dry when he woke up. As time goes on, those heartbroken sobs become rarer. Those bright eyes become a bit darker. Lorenz doesn't know what to do, what he _can_ do, except for holding this dreamscape version of his soulmate when he needs it.

\-----

Lorenz is eleven when his father first tries to remove his soulmark. It doesn't seem to work, and at first Lorenz thinks there has been no change at all.

But when he sleeps, he is alone in his dreams.

His father could not remove the name, but clearly the bond has been altered in some way.

Lorenz wakes up, every morning, feeling chilled and hollow. Weighed down by emptiness, before he gathers his wits about him and soldiers on. He is alone, now, but worse than that:

Khalid is alone now too.

Sometimes, in the endless blurred horizons of sleep-drenched nothingness, Lorenz is sure he can hear someone calling his name.

No matter how far he walks, or how loudly he calls back, he can never seem to find them.

\-----

Lorenz is seventeen when he decides he hates Claude von Riegan.

They were not exactly off to a good start, with Count Gloucester telling him to watch the other boy, to write back reports of his behaviour. Their relationship is plagued with suspicion and distrust from the very beginning. It does not help that Claude always seems to know exactly what to say and what to do to utterly humiliate Lorenz. Constantly. What's worse, he makes it seem so effortless, as if he is _not_ trying to make a complete fool of him!

Claude's very presence puts him on edge. Always so perceptive. Impossible to lie to. Always standing too close, and yet not nearly close enough. 

He refuses to admit that last thought ever occurred to him.

Still, as the school year drags on, it becomes increasingly apparent that they… actually work very well together, when it comes down to it. Not to mention, the more he sees of Claude, the more his father's painting of a self-serving scoundrel doesn't at all seem to fit. His letters home get more and more sparse, to the point where his father threatens punishment if he does not put more effort into it. When he writes back with the suggestion that perhaps there is nothing to write because Claude is not doing anything nefarious-

He returns to his usual reports after receiving the reply. As much detail as he can fit.

The guilt weighs on him. As they become closer, as they dance around the word 'friends,' the task given to him makes him sick. His hand shakes as he writes, and all he can think of is how hard-won Claude's trust is. How badly he wants that trust.

How he wishes he deserved that trust.

He puts real effort into antagonizing Claude. Into questioning him and badgering him and insulting him. Trying to bait him into doing or saying something that Lorenz could hold onto. That he could use to justify his actions, feel less guilty. But Claude never rises to the bait. He remains affable and enigmatic, unfazed by Lorenz and all his accusations.

Sometimes Claude will look at him with those ridiculously lovely green eyes, and it is as if he is looking within him rather than at him. Like he can see all that Lorenz is, down to the very heart of him. He gives no indication of what he has found, but it always leaves Lorenz feeling shaken and _known._ It feels so unfair, that Claude should so easily see all that he is when Lorenz knows not a thing about him. 

\----

There are days when Claude's eyes go dark.

That smile never fades, the veneer of mischief never falters, and it is true that his smile has rarely managed to reach his eyes. Even so, there are days when it is a bit more than that. Days where the usual glint is absent. Days when the smile looks almost painful for all the effort it takes. Days where Lorenz takes one look at Claude and finds his breath stolen by the sharp pain in his own chest. 

If he goes a bit easier on Claude on those days, no one mentions it.

They do not mention it because, it seems, they do not know those days exist at all.

On one such occasion, Lorenz takes Hilda aside. She and Claude are friends, and so he thinks that perhaps she would have some insight. But when he asks about it, about Claude's wellbeing, she just looks confused.

"What are you even talking about?" She raises an eyebrow, arms crossed as she frowns at him. "Claude is fine."

"He is not."

"He's just as smiley as he ever is," she shrugs, and he finds himself unreasonably irritated with her. He tries not to let it show.

"It is different. Something is wrong."

She stares at him for a moment.

"If you say so," though she still sounds unconvinced. "I guess if anyone would notice, it would be you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah, I mean, I know you guys have your whole weird sexually-charged rivalry or whatever—"

" _I beg your pardon—?!_ "

"But I mean, you always seem to know what he's trying to say before he says it, and it's the same the other way around too. He's even done this exact same thing before. 'Oh, do you think Lorenz is okay?'" She goes on in a mock-imitation of Claude's voice. "'Does he seem sad to you today?'"

Lorenz is too busy sputtering, red-faced and mortified, to respond properly.

"Seriously, can you guys just kiss already and get it over with?"

" _Hilda!_ "

"So, yeah, if you say he's upset then you're probably right." She finishes casually, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she leaves him standing there, doing a very good impression of a bright red tomato.

Despite his utter mortification, he cannot help but cling to one part of what she said:

Claude worries about him.

He cannot even begin to understand the mixture of emotions that revelation brings.

\----

Opposed to what others may expect, Lorenz likes stable duty.

Yes, it is hard work, messy and smelly and often tedious. But he has never minded working hard, often enjoys it in fact. The stars of the show, however, are the horses. He does not fawn over them the way Ferdinand does, and he has not the connection to them that Marianne does, but he enjoys them all the same. He takes great pride in the work he does with them. It is always noticed when he has been the one to care for them. Their coats will be cleaner, their manes properly attended to. He will even braid them, if they are long enough to impede sight. The state of the stables themselves are always much better off for all his hard work.

If one is going to do something, then they may as well do it right.

It is no less than the magnificent animals deserve. 

He had expected Claude to be surprised by how intently he dedicates himself to the task. He also expected Claude to kick back and relax upon realizing Lorenz would likely do the whole thing regardless. Neither of those things occur. Claude looks at him in that awful, _knowing_ way that he does. As if he knew what Lorenz would do before he did it. He takes a step back from the work only to observe Lorenz as he works for a moment.

When he gets back to work a moment later, he is going about it completely differently than he had before. It takes Lorenz longer than he would care to admit to realize what the change is. Rather than carrying on as two independent workers trying not to step on each other's toes, Claude has shifted so that they work in tandem. In synchronization. Lorenz does not think that it could last long, considering how they usually clash, but to his great surprise they work brilliantly together. As if they know exactly what the other intends to do at any given time, though Lorenz knows for a fact that isn't the case.

Perhaps there is a method to their professor's madness.

"So, Lorenz," Claude finally speaks up as they settle into the rhythm of their work. "Fódlan nobility doesn't do the whole soulmate thing, right?"

"That depends on what you mean when you say 'do the whole soulmate thing,'" Lorenz replies dismissively, not looking away from the fresh hay he is putting in the stall. "We still have the marks. Usually."

"But you don't act on them." That question has him glance up at Claude, only to find him refreshing the horse's water. Though he is watching Lorenz so intently that it is a genuine wonder he does not spill water all over himself.

"Not in the… typical manner. There is certainly etiquette for it. It would be a slight to the Goddess to completely disregard her gift. If a noble has a commoner soulmate then it is considered their duty to ensure their comfort and safety. If it is another noble and the relationship would be advantageous—"

"Oooh, okay, so you turn soulmates into political pawns. How respectful." Claude scoffs.

"That is absolutely _not_ what I said, if you would listen instead of interrupting me." He hisses, stabbing the pitchfork into the haybale with more force than is strictly necessary.

"Okay then, so what would you do?"

"What?"

"If you met your soulmate. What would you do?" As Lorenz opens his mouth to answer, Claude interrupts yet again. "And I don't want a lecture on your duty as a noble. I wanna know what you, Lorenz, would do."

"... There would be nothing I could do." He admits. "I am bound by duty-" Claude cuts him off with an unnecessarily dramatic groan of frustration. 

"Fine then, what would you _want_ to do?"

"Would you stop interrupting me?!"

"Would you stop avoiding my question?" They meet eyes around the horse they've been tending to, Lorenz with a narrowed glare and Claude with a steady gaze. The tension of a challenge hangs between them, and the horse that's in the stall with them fusses at the energy surrounding her.

Lorenz takes a moment to calm her. It is purely for the animal's benefit. Not at all because he's putting off his answer. 

"... Fine. What I would want is to not meet them in the first place." He hears the slosh of water, and lo and behold when he turns to look, Claude has spilled water all over his own shoes.

In true _Claude_ fashion, he carries on as if his legs and feet are not completely drenched.

"Really? Here I took you for a romantic."

"My own desires are less important than their wellbeing."

Silence meets that. Lorenz focuses on the task at hand, not daring to meet Claude's eyes. If he looks at that beautiful shade of green, he is certain to tell Claude anything he wishes to know.

"What do you mean?"

His throat feels tight.

He realizes, too late, that he will tell Claude regardless. 

"Lorenz?"

"I would not want to hurt them," he explains to the horse, to avoid looking at Claude. His voice is quieter than he intended. "I could not bear to look at my soulmate and tell them my duty to the people comes first. I could not break their heart and cast them aside, though I would have no other option. And even beyond that, my father…"

"What about your father?"

Lorenz doesn't answer. He shakes his head, his lips pressed together in a grim line as he maintains his composure.

In a rare act of mercy, Claude does not ask any more questions. 

\----

Their professor, who had never known the meaning of the word _mercy,_ keeps assigning them to work together.

The light is dim in the library, where he and Claude are working late into the night on a recent project for class. They have been bickering across the table all day, unable to agree on any one direction for the project, unable to compromise on anything. Claude had suggested certain ways they could meet in the middle, but Lorenz would not hear of it. As his father said, a draw is not a victory. A victory is a victory, everything else is a loss.

And he will not lose to Claude von Reigan.

"Y'know Lorenz," he breaks yet another tense, extended silence. Lorenz bristles, ready to launch right back into arguing. "I've been wondering, do you have a soulmark?"

He is caught by surprise. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"I know, I know, kinda personal but we're friends right?"

"Not the word I would use for us…" Friends do not fight so constantly, do they? Although, now that he thinks of it, most sets of friends he knows bicker more often than not. Still, the word does not seem to fit them at all.

"Yes, I agree, we are so much more than that," Claude grins as Lorenz sputters. He can feel his face flush scarlet, and he knows the dim light does nothing to hide it.

"Who asks things like that? Why do you even want to know?!" He hisses across the table. Claude, infuriatingly enough, shrugs. Casually. Like this isn't completely inappropriate.

"Hilda said you told her that you didn't have one. Ignatz thought so too. But Raphael and Leonie both said they've seen it. Seems weird that you would claim not to have one. I hear there's a stigma against the markless here."

"Based on absolute nonsense about them being forsaken by the Goddess' gift, yes."

"Exactly. So why would you-"

"There are worse stigmas." Lorenz interrupts, but Claude does not take the hint in his abruptness.

"Oh?"

Goddess, he is so obvious. This isn't even manipulation, and yet Lorenz is willingly playing into what he wants.

"... Soulmarks in other languages are also considered… unfavorable. Particularly among the nobility, and especially if it is a language of a people with whom there has been conflict. It is seen as disloyalty and can utterly ruin someone's life and career."

"What language is yours?"

"I did not say that my own—"

"You didn't have to"

"It is none of your business, Claude."

"I won't tell anyone, Lorenz. This is just between us." Claude assures, his eyes steady and his expression unreadable.

"Right," he scoffs. "Like I would believe such an obvious lie."

Claude just shrugs again.

Lorzen cannot look away from the green of his eyes.

"Almyran," he blurts, shocked to hear his own voice. "My soulname is Almyran."

"Is that why your father would be a problem?" Of course he remembers that. Lorenz finally manages to look away from Claude's searching gaze, turning back to their project.

"My soulmate has always been a… issue, for him, yes."

"You think he'd hurt them?"

"... I do not know. It is not something I am willing to chance. He is not typically violent, but he has gone so far as to try to remove the name—"

Claude almost falls out of his chair.

"He _what?_ "

Well now. He has never heard _outrage_ in Claude's voice.

Lorenz looks up from the books calmly, raising an eyebrow.

"He tried to remove it." Something _burns_ in Claude's eyes when Lorenz says those words. Something that makes his heart speed up, that makes his breath stutter.

"That isn't possible." He insists fiercely. Lorenz inclines his head in agreement.

"Indeed."

"Even if it was- That's half of your soul Lorenz."

"I know."

"That's- that's _cruel_ —"

"I know, Claude." The tremor in his voice seems to finally cut through whatever righteous indignation had possessed his companion. Claude takes a breath, there is a halted movement as if he means to reach out to Lorenz. In the end, he does not. He only shakes his head in disgust.

The silence does not last. Minutes tick by as Claude sits there, staring unseeingly at their project. His leg is bouncing restlessly, the green of his eyes hiding something tumultuous. Finally, he takes a breath, and speaks.

"Can I see? The name, I mean."

Lorenz nearly spills ink all over himself.

"Absolutely not!" He hisses, but it only makes Claude grin in that way he does. Lorenz cannot bring himself to mind. It is better than the uncharacteristic brooding.

"Why, is it somewhere naughty?"

" _Certainly_ not, if Leonie could see it—!"

"Hey, I dunno what you do in your spare time!"

" _Claude!_ " Goddess, his face must be positively _crimson._

"Look, opposed to popular belief, Almyran's don't all know each other. We aren't a hivemind. There's next to no chance I know the guy."

"Then _why-_ "

"Humour me."

There is something in the way Claude says it. Softer than everything else. Gentler. Encouraging. The tone is so- private. So personal, so—

It feels as if something is fluttering in his chest. Like a light is warming him from the inside out. Like everything is alright, in this moment, everything is okay. He realizes with a surge of panic that he trusts Claude.

He stands so quickly his chair nearly topples over. He just barely catches it, stumbling backward.

"It's late," he excuses himself quickly, immediately heading out the door. He doesn't get two steps before a hand closes around his wrist. Not tightly, not aggressive in the least. If he had kept walking it would not have stopped him. It is something else that freezes him in place.

The sleeve of his jacket rides up, and Claude's (warm, so warm) hand closes around his wrist, making contact with his skin and—

"Yikes!" Claude yelps, yanking his hand back just as Lorenz flinches away, turning to look at him with wide eyes. Claude hisses through his teeth, examining his hand for damage. "I know that wasn't very polite but there's no call to use magic on me."

He had not used any magic.

That same thing in his chest is pulling at him. Tugging.

Claude is so far away. Why is he so far away? Why does everything feel so cold even as his wrist burns where Claude had touched him—

"Well perhaps you should think twice before attempting to manhandle me!" He shoots back, seething, drawing anger from his confusion to mask any vulnerability. He hurries from the library before Claude can even stand. Every step away feels like dying, feels like drowning dry, feels like he is ripping his soul in two.

It is that feeling, that agony, that makes him certain.

'Claude' is not his real name.

\----

This is exactly the sort of information his father is looking for. If he were to reveal the truth, to tell his father Claude's real name, his father would be beyond pleased. He would be so proud. His son would have surpassed expectations. In the wake of his stinging disappointment at Lorenz's increasingly lackluster reports, the idea should be incredibly tempting.

Yet he is not tempted in the least.

Perhaps Claude is a scoundrel. Perhaps he cannot be trusted. Perhaps he will bring the Alliance to ruin. Lorenz does not owe him loyalty or silence.

He owes Claude nothing.

But Lorenz looks at the name printed along his skin, traces the black lines just beneath his collar bone, and he remembers how much comfort he found in that name. How much time had he spent, worrying about his other half? Wondering what they were like, wondering if they were okay, wondering if they would like him were they to meet. He spent even more time than that trying to stop wondering such things. Pointless. Painful. It would not matter either way.

So, no, he does not owe Claude anything. That does not change that, despite himself and his upbringing, despite his father's strict teachings about such things, Lorenz has always been hopelessly devoted to the name on his skin. He has always held that complete stranger close to his heart. To betray him would be unthinkable.

Khalid's secret is safe with him.

Lorenz could not bear it to be any other way.

\-----

Being around Claude is difficult, after that. Trying to reconcile the dastardly schemer he has been spying on with the other half of his very soul. Writing the reports to his father becomes increasingly painful, increasingly unbearable. He cannot even watch for things to report. Any time he is in proximity to Claude he is overcome by agony. As if something is trying to rip his chest open, pry apart his ribcage, and crawl out through the opening. Something trying to move towards Claude while Lorenz insists on keeping an appropriate distance.

No one seems to notice. Or, if they do, they don't mention it to him. 

He should have expected that Claude could not leave well enough alone.

They have been assigned, once again, to the stables. Lorenz tries to focus on the work, but the pain is intense when Claude is nearby, and it has him feeling a bit light-headed. He works through it stubbornly, and hopes none of his weakness is visible.

Of course, he is never so fortunate. 

He startles when a hand waves in front of his face, stumbling backwards and away so quickly he nearly falls. A steady arm catches him around the waist and reels him back in. Even through both of their many layers, the relief is immediate. They are standing nearly chest to chest, and the aching thing within him allows a moment of reprieve. The sudden change is so overwhelming that, for a moment, he doesn't realize Claude is speaking.

"-mean to startle you, I called your name like five times but you didn't even blink—"

"What?" Not the most eloquent he has ever been, admittedly. He blinks hard, once, twice, until the haze clears and he can see Claude before him. He is not even trying to hide his concern.

"Lorenz, I've been right beside you, saying your name. I was practically shouting right into your ear. At first I thought you were ignoring me, but you look so pale— I mean, paler than usual, which is really saying something—"

"I assure you, I am fine."

"Come on, Lorenz, who do you think you're talking to? As if I'd fall for such an obvious lie." He tries to joke for a moment, but it's weak and falls away quickly as worry returns to his eyes. "I'm serious, Lorenz. You look like you haven't been sleeping. Like you're liable to pass out any minute."

"That is simply not the case."

"You aren't yourself."

"What-?"

"You'd usually have backed away by now." Claude shifts, and Lorenz realizes that they are still standing closely. That Claude's arm is still around his waist. Warm. So warm. "Not that I'm complaining, but—"

He should move back.

"Lorenz?"

He tries, and Claude lets him slip away with no resistance.

Pain lances through his chest, his hand gripping desperately at the front of his coat as if that will stop it. A gasp escapes him as he is blindsided by the agony of it, stepping further backwards despite how much worse it gets. Surely Claude must feel it too? Surely his side of the soulbond must be just as raw? But when he manages to lift his head he sees no pain in Claude's expression. 

He does, however, see something far more concerning.

Fear.

Only for a moment. Just the barest fraction of a second where Claude looks lost and afraid, gone so quickly that Lorenz wonders if he imagined it. Maybe he's delirious. That wide-eyed terror is replaced with forced calm. Claude is good at pretending everything is fine. Lorenz is sure he would not be able to see the cracks in his proverbial armour were they not connected in this way.

His ears are ringing. He tries to take a breath to steady himself, but his chest tightens painfully.

"You should go to the infirmary." It is not a suggestion. Claude's tone is firm, commanding in a way he rarely bothers with. Lorenz shuts his eyes tight, staggering backwards to lean against the wall of the stable, trying to breathe. "At the very least you should sit down!"

"Perhaps you are right."

Silence.

"Holy shit, you really are sick," Claude breathes in awe. "Seriously, the one time you admit I'm right and I can't even enjoy it because you look like you're dying." He hears footsteps as Claude approaches, but his head is tilted back, staring at the stable roof.

"I can make it to my room myself." He insists, predicting what Claude was about to say.

"I find that hard to believe, seeing as standing seems to be taking a lot out of you all on its own."

Lorenz grits his teeth and channels his stubborn pride. He pushes himself off of the wall, looks Claude right in the eyes, before turning around and walking away as quickly as he can manage. The pain has not left, but it does not worsen. The fact that he doesn't realize that is because Claude is walking a short distance behind him speaks volumes of how the pain has fogged his mind.

"I told you—"

"I know," Claude interrupts. "I'm just here in case you fall over again. Wouldn't want you to split your head open."

That would likely hurt less.

He does not even acknowledge Claude again after that. He goes straight to his room, closes the door behind him, and waits. There is a moment where Claude inexplicably lingers, and it allows Lorenz a breath to brace himself. He expects it, this time. As Claude walks away, his legs give out. He clamps a trembling hand over his mouth to stifle any reaction to the bond tearing into him.

It fades, eventually, as the bond stops reaching. Though, in truth, the numbing emptiness left in its place is not necessarily preferable. The weather is decent and yet still, even in his room, he feels as if he is freezing to death. He drags himself to bed, but even the blankets do not stop his shivering.

\----

Leonie tries to make him go to the infirmary, when she hears about what happened. He refuses, but she is adamant. It is only under the sincere threat of her slinging him over her shoulder and carrying him to the infirmary that he agrees to allow Marianne to check on him.

Marianne, in the privacy of his room, channels white magic through his system. He feels it soothing through him, soft and serene, barely there at all. Until it reaches his chest. It catches there, hitches painfully in a way that makes both of them gasp from it. Marianne flinches, but she doesn't pull her hands away. Her brow furrows, and she presses on. Her magic cannot undo whatever knot is tangled in his chest, however, and she gives up when it becomes clear that any further attempts will only hurt them both.

"Your soulbond is…" she starts, but he doesn't want to hear whatever word she's about to say. Ruined, marred, broken, wounded… he does not want to hear it.

"I know. I know, it—"

"Frayed," she finishes regardless, and that brings him up short. "Altered. It's been… tampered with…"

"Years ago, yes." He admits, and the sound she makes is one of devastation.

"Oh, Lorenz…"

"Please, I do not need your pity-"

"Is it pity," she speaks quietly, but it brings him up short all the same. "To wish my friend had not been hurt in such a way?"

"It was not— like that. My father did not _hurt_ me—" he insists, but neither of them are convinced. The ache in his chest disproves the words even as he speaks them.

"I'm… sorry. It would seem I am as useless here as I always am…" Marianne bites her lip, holding back tears. "I am so sorry, Lorenz."

"It cannot be— mended?" He asks, not meaning to sound so desperate. Her lip goes white where her teeth dig in. He finds himself worried that she'll draw blood.

"It can be," she admits after a moment. "But not by me. Not by typical healing. If the soulbond is strengthened, then the issue will resolve itself. If the two halves are brought together, allowed to become whole, then it typically eases any previous damage to the soul…"

"So the only way to fix it would be to… meet my soulmate and develop the soulbond." He clarifies, and she nods. She watches him for a moment. Seeing her tired eyes fill with pity for him makes him nauseous. 

"You know who it is," she states, rather than asks. He doesn't ask how she knows. Likely she felt the beginnings of the bond trying to reach out.

"Yes," he admits with a sigh. "But it does not matter. Nothing can come of it."

"Even so…"

"He likely knows and yet has not said a word. Clearly, he wants nothing to do with me." He knows it's a flimsy excuse. Even to his own ears it does not sound quite right.

"He is the other half of your soul, Lorenz."

"So?"

"And you are the other half of his." She says it so simply. So easily. Those sad doe-eyes piercing him easily. "Whoever it is… You should talk about it, at the very least."

"...Thank you, Marianne. For your help, and your… advice."

"I am sorry I could not do more…"

"Hush now. Do not fret." He comforts as they stand. "Now please, allow me to escort you to your chambers. The hour is late, and I will not leave you to walk back alone."

"Lorenz, you aren't well! You should rest!" She protests even as they leave his room.

"And rest I shall! _After_ I have seen you safely back to your chambers. A short walk across campus will not kill me, Marianne."

"Knowing me, it very well might." He ignores her usual dark mutterings. One does not spend any length of time around Marianne without growing distressingly accustomed to such things.

\-----

Marianne comes to him the next day with a chance at reprieve. A spell that will abate the symptoms in the absence of proper treatment. It does not dispel the pain entirely, but the dull ache throughout his body is much easier to bear than the all-consuming agony he had been in before. Even being around Claude does not cause him distress so much as discomfort.

This means he can tolerate being around Claude- or, rather, he can tolerate Claude as well as he ever has.

This, unfortunately, also means that Claude can ask him more ridiculously invasive personal questions.

"How old were you when your father tried to remove your soulname?"

He almost chokes on his food.

They're alone, thank the goddess, but the dining hall still is not the best place for such a conversation. 

"What does it matter?" He demands, once he is certain that he will not die at the hands of a peach sorbet.

"Humour me," Claude says, as he always does when Lorenz questions his nonsense.

"Do you derive some sort of sick enjoyment from interrogating me about such personal things? I have no doubt my pain amuses you but you could at least stand to be more discreet—"

"Pain?" Claude latches onto that word, cutting off Lorenz's tirade. There is a pinch in his brow, as if something has confused him. Lorenz looks at him, deadpan, and explains as if to a child.

"To have someone attempt to forcibly remove a part of your soul is not a pleasant experience, Claude." The steadiness of his voice is entirely forced, and he knows Claude notices. He knows, because something like guilt settles into those green, green eyes. They go wide in something like realization, and immediately Claude is backtracking.

"Oh shit- I didn't even think- yeah, no, now that you mention it, I guess that… _would_ be pretty upsetting. I didn't mean to make you relive that-"

"Well, it's done now," he sighs, pulling down his spoon. His appetite is long gone.

"Really Lorenz, I'm sorry-"

"Do you want to know the answer or not?" He snaps, and Claude blinks at him in surprise.

"... Of course I wanna know, but not if it hurts you to talk about."

Lorenz does not wish to analyze the way his chest flutters at the concern in Claude's eyes.

"I was eleven, the first time."

He says it quietly, and the silence that follows has him concerned that Claude did not hear. Then, just as softly, he responds.

"The first time," he repeats Lorenz's words, something heavy causing his voice to sound thick with- something. Some emotion Lorenz cannot identify.

"There were a few attempts. None worked in full."

"But they worked in some fashion?"

"... I no longer have souldreams." He whispers, and it is now that his voice shakes. He knows this will likely tip Claude off as to their connection, and yet he continues. "I used to. But after that, I…"

He cannot bring himself to finish the sentence, or to look at Claude any longer. His eyes fix on the table they sit at, distant and unseeing. Claude says not a word, and Lorenz finds the silence unbearable. 

"Some nights, I could hear him calling for me. Trying to reach me. But where he should have been there was just… nothing. For years, I screamed and cried at that nothing. Spent my nights walking tirelessly towards his shouts." His voice is barely above a whisper. He doesn't notice how his own hands shake, folded in his lap. "Then one night I heard nothing, and I knew he had given up on me."

He hears Claude's breath catch.

"Lorenz-"

"I should go," he stands, trying to maintain some illusion of steadiness as he leaves the table. "I promised to meet Ferdinand for tea after dinner."

Claude doesn't try to stop him from leaving.

Thanks to Marianne's treatment, the tearing pain in his chest is almost manageable.

\-----

The questions don't stop.

"What was he like?"

They are on hands and knees in the yard, pulling weeds in tandem at the behest of their maniacal professor. Lorenz looks up from his work to glare.

"You cannot simply launch questions at me every time we're alone and call it a conversation, Claude."

"Oh yeah, of course, there should be some reciprocity. You're absolutely right." He nods, Lorenz narrows his eyes. "Tell you what, Lorenz, I'll tell you about mine. If you promise to tell me about yours after. Deal?"

Claude holds out a hand to shake. They are both ungloved.

Lorenz knows a trap when he sees one.

"I am not touching your hands. We are both filthy."

"If we're both filthy then touching my hand won't make it much worse."

"You will simply have to make do with my word, Claude. I will not shake your hand." He glares as Claude pouts in an attempt to sway him. Finally, his companion drops his hand and gets back to work.

"Fine, fine…" He sighs. "I mean, I only knew him from souldreams. Didn't remember much when I woke up. Just… these vague impressions. Sometimes a phrase or two.

"You will not be receiving much information if that is all you are willing to share," Lorenz informs him.

"Well, let me think… I remember holding his hand a lot. I remember that no matter how bad things got, he always gave me something to look forward to. I remember that he had the prettiest, most expressive eyes I'd ever seen. I could never remember the colour… But I remember thinking that I had never seen such lonely eyes before."

_Did they not have mirrors in Almyra?_

He doesn't ask. It is rare for Claude to be open, and Lorenz does not wish to throw it back in his face.

"You use the past tense to refer to him," he points out instead. Softly. Not expecting an explanation. 

"... Yeah." There is a pause afterwards, so long that he thinks Claude might leave it at that. "Yeah, something… Something happened. I'm not sure what, but one night I went to sleep and he just… wasn't there."

Lorenz's chest is too tight around the swelling beat of his heart.

"I could hear him crying, that first night. Sobbing my name, mostly. I tried so hard to get to him. I was sure he was hurt, or dying, and I didn't know what to do… I still don't know what to do. I can still feel him there, but I can't reach him, and it's-" he shakes his head, at a loss. "... I was completely inconsolable. My parents didn't know what to do or how to fix it. I begged them to help me find him, but where would we even begin? The name is common, and so we had nothing to go on."

There's silence for a moment, as Lorenz takes it all in.

"... Did you hate him?" He asks, softly. Claude's head shoots up from where he's hunched over the weeds, eyes burning.

"Not for a moment," he insists, looking Lorenz right in the eyes.

"Even though he abandoned you?" Claude is shaking his head before the words cross Lorenz's lips.

"He didn't abandon me. There is no doubt in my mind about that." The fierceness in his voice takes Lorenz by surprise. It's an intensity Claude usually does not allow others to see. "He was taken from me, and I was taken from him."

Lorenz yanks another weed out by the roots.

"You said you'd tell me about yours, too." Claude reminds him. It takes Lorenz a moment before he trusts himself to speak.

"... I don't know how to describe him. All I remembered from the dreams was… warmth. Happiness. Except, I remember he would be very upset sometimes, by things that had happened in the waking world. I could never remember details, but I remember thinking that he did not deserve the pain he endured. I wanted to protect him from it… But I could not. So I settled for just… being there for him. Until that too became impossible."

Claude must know at this point. He must. He is a genius, no doubt about it, and never misses a thing. Painfully observant. So he must know. He must have Lorenz's name across his skin and, though Lorenz is a common name in Fódlan, he must have realized by now. It is just too much to be a coincidence. He knows that Lorenz has an Almyran soulname. He knows Lorenz stopped having souldreams at approximately the same time that Claude's soulmate was taken from him. 

He must at least _suspect._

So why must he insist on dancing around it like this?

\-----

It is not long after that conversation that Edelgard begins her rebellion against the church. She leads the Empire to revolution, and the Holy Kingdom of Faergus stands firm with the Church of Seiros. The Alliance is in shambles, half of its Houses siding with the Empire and the other half with the Kingdom. In the middle of it all, Claude's grandfather dies, making him the head of House Reigan and thus the leader of the Alliance.

In the face of war and hardship, Lorenz is forced to cast aside his father's control. There is no room for doubt and betrayal as things are. He must do what is best for the Alliance and its people. At the moment, that means standing staunchly at Claude's side as a trustworthy ally, helping to hold everything together.

There is no time, under such conditions, for questions of a personal nature. No time to ask Claude if he knows, and no time to worry about it. They are at war. Every time they speak, they have decisions to discuss, plans to make, traps to lay. The state of things is too fragile to allow for even the slightest lapse in concentration.

That is, until the impossible happens.

Until the professor returns from the grave, claiming to have been _napping at the bottom of a canyon for five years._

Honestly. He owes Hilda an apology for every time he called her lazy.

The return of their beloved professor means a lot of pressure taken off of the rest of them. The tide begins to turn in their favour, and suddenly victory seems like less of an impossibility. 

Suddenly, they have time.

He knew Claude would be on the third floor, but he had assumed he'd be in Rhea's old room. Snooping, most likely. Instead he finds him on the nearby balcony, staring down into the fountain that still runs there, heedless of time's passage.

He does not move as Lorenz stands beside him.

"Did something happen?" Claude asks, quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the atmosphere around them.

"No," Lorenz tells him. "I just… wished to speak with you. About something… unrelated to the war."

"I'm grateful. Seems the war is all we talk about these days."

"Well, it is a rather hot topic at the moment." Lorenz replies dryly, and the upward curve of Claude's lips feels like a victory. Finally, Claude turns from the water to look at him.

The full force of his gaze is nearly too much to bear.

That green could drown him much more efficiently than the pool they stand beside. He is not entirely sure he'd mind if it did.

"You asked me once," he begins, before he can wonder if he's making a terrible mistake. "What I would do if I met my soulmate."

"I remember," Claude nods, eyes alight with curiosity. "You said you would not want to meet him, as it would likely cause him harm."

"... My answer has changed."

"Has it?"

"Yes. But… I would ask for your own, first."

"My what now?"

"Your answer. To the question." He tries not to get too flustered, but he can feel his cheeks heat up. "What would you do, if you met your soulmate now?"

Claude watches him closely. His gaze is analytical as ever, but there is something there. It is not the first time Lorenz has seen such an expression on his face, but he can never quite figure out what it means. What emotion it comes from. What thoughts it betrays.

"You really wanna know?" Claude asks, as though Lorenz has ever been one to back down. Lorenz shoots him a sharp, annoyed look that only serves to make Claude laugh quietly at him. "Alright. Alright…"

There is something nervous, when he says that. Something tumultuous and unsteady. He looks away for a moment, and when he looks at Lorenz again it is with such vulnerability that it takes his breath away. For a moment, Lorenz is sure Claude means to kiss him.

Instead, he takes off his gloves. Deliberately. Slowly. Not breaking eye contact the whole while. Then he reaches out and does the same to Lorenz, who finds himself so transfixed that he cannot even object shen Claude allows his fine white gloves to drop to the floor. Then, finally, finally, _finally_ —

Claude takes his hand.

He holds it gently in his own, his thumb soothing over the back, and Lorenz finds his other hand flying up to grip at Claude's shoulder for something to steady himself. Warmth radiates from the point of contact, spreads through his arm to his chest, where his heart beats to spread bliss along his veins. He hears himself gasp, a broken sound from a broken man, and feels tears gather in his eyes.

It doesn't hurt.

He had grown so accustomed to the pain, he had forgotten what it was like not to feel it. The knot in his chest unties. The weight crushing his lungs relents. That feeling of being frayed and raw, that awful hollow emptiness, dissipates. As easily as if it were never there at all.

"You knew," he breathes, utterly undone.

"Of course I knew," Claude responds, not unkindly.

"When?"

"I… suspected, from the beginning. Lorenz is a common name here, but you were so familiar… I couldn't shake it. I was almost sure, when you told me your soulname was Almyran. Then you told me about the dreams, and I was certain."

Lorenz cannot help but laugh. Claude, to his credit, looks more curious than offended. He raises an eyebrow, but Lorenz just shakes his head.

"Apologies. It is just… It's not often that I know something before you do."

"When-"

"The library. When you touched me. You thought it was magic…"

"I thought it was magic because it hurt," Claude frowns, brow furrowing in concern. "Soulbonds aren't supposed to hurt. Not like that, anyway."

Lorenz cannot weather such worry. He turns his head, but Claude simply raises one of his hands to his cheek, turning him back. He still holds his hand tightly in the other.

"Lorenz," he starts seriously, his thumb ghosting over Lorenz's cheek. "Are you in pain?"

"Not right now," he admits, his eyes sliding shut as he finds himself unable to resist turning his face into Claude's palm. He presses a kiss there, gentle, and delights in the way Claude's breath catches.

"But, I don't understand. It doesn't hurt me at all, so why would-" Something clicks in Claude's mind. Lorenz can see the very moment he puts it together. "Your father…"

"Marianne says that my half of the bond has been… altered. He could not have known it would cause such-"

"He should never have tried to alter your soul in the first place, Lorenz." Claude's tone leaves no room for argument. That breathtaking blaze lights up the green of his eyes.

"I do not wish to discuss that right now," Lorenz manages to speak after a moment. "I only want to know… where do we go from here?"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head, curious, as if he does not know. He drops his hand, holding Lorenz's with his own. Despite the tenderness of the moment, Lorenz cannot help but roll his eyes.

"You clearly have… _plans_ of some sort. Beyond this war. Something bigger that you build toward."

"Like I'd ever craft a plan without room for you in it," Claude scoffs at the very idea, stepping closer despite how he needs to look up to meet Lorenz's eyes. "I can't tell you everything. Not yet. And I don't want to make promises that I can't guarantee I'll keep…"

He drops his hold on Lorenz's hands, reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear, his palm resting on his cheek once more.

His hands are so, so warm.

Lorenz had not realized he was cold.

"But it was hard enough losing you the first time, when we didn't even properly know each other. Now? Now you're one of my closest friends — I'd call you my best friend if I didn't think Hilda would appear and toss me off the roof. You're my right-hand man, and the voice of reason that keeps me grounded. Whatever I do after this… I couldn't do it without you."

"You could," Lorenz corrects, despite how his voice is thick with unshed tears.

"Okay, yeah, I could. But I don't want to." Claude swallows thickly, nervously, his eyes downcast for a moment. "I really, _really don't want to._ "

"You won't have to," Lorenz clears his throat, blinks repeatedly to clear his misty eyes. "I will be at your side for as long as you will have me."

"What did I just say about promises we can't keep?" Claude admonishes. "You'd never abandon the people of the Alliance. What if my plans take me away from here?"

"You are thinking too literally. We do not have to physically be in the same place at all times to support one another." Lorenz shoots back, and it's familiar. Comfortable. They are at their best when they bicker. "Additionally, if we move forward with strengthening the bond, then even when we are apart—"

He stops short, chilled by the sudden icy grip of realization.

"That is, if you want—"

"I want," Claude does what he does best and interrupts. Two words is enough to chase away the chill. "I want."

Their eyes meet. Silence settles between them. Lorenz cannot tell who moves first. Perhaps the thread tugs him forward, or maybe Claude reels him in. Maybe he leans down out of his own impulses. Regardless, he stoops to close the difference in their heights, presses his lips to Claude's. 

It is a revelation. 

Claude presses back as if they've done this a hundred times before. As if it comes naturally.

Lorenz supposes he should be less surprised by that. They share a soul, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think!!!!! I've never written for them or for this fandom so feedback would be appreciated!! ♡


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